I would never consider myself a writer. In fact, sometimes I have a feeling I am one of those people who speaks their native English language so poorly that I must appear to be dumb, but thankfully I have enough self-esteem to know that I am intelligent even if I may speak poorly, struggle in my mathematics program, and write even worse. Interestingly enough, although I have played clarinet since 2nd grade, sang since I first saw “Annie”, and have spent summers teaching musical theater and basic painting I also don’t describe myself as creative. I also have a degree in mathematics, and am a funded graduate student, and I don’t think of myself as being a mathematician either. It is this inability to place myself in a specific category that leads me to struggle feeling like I belong anywhere. What am I best at? Where do I belong? What about me is being stifled because I’m trying to fit some pre-planned mold?
Truth is, maybe I am correct… maybe I am not a writer, nor a mathematician, but I am a thinker. I thrive from using my mind, I enjoy being pushed to think outside of a box (although I appreciate a complete description of the box before being asked to think outside of it). Anyways…maybe right now, I can’t find my place, because I don’t really need one…yet. Who knows.